six degrees of separation
by onlywordsnow
Summary: they aren't okay but they'll both pretend anyway
1. prologue

**six degrees of separation ; r ; 856 words ;**

**prologue**

**they aren't okay but they'll both pretend anyway**

* * *

****_Okay, so this is something new and exciting and fun and weird and it will be fast and slow at the same time. It will start slow and end slow but the middle will be fast. I don't know if that was confusing but the idea just came to me and there will be a prologue, 6 chapters, and an epilogue. Enjoy. Review. Don't review. Have fun. Love it. Hate it. Thanks for checking it out  
_

* * *

This is where it begins...

and truth be told, it could have begun a long time ago. It could be sunshine and rainbows and butterflies and compromise and two kids being raised in the city with pretentious elementary schools and school plays and fighting over stupid things that married couples fight over. It could be, it could be so different, so much more.

Instead, it's pre-trial rituals and slightly flirtatious banter that never really goes anywhere or amounts to anything.

She used to think about it a lot; she doesn't think about it as much anymore.

* * *

Donna Paulsen is _not_ in love with Harvey Specter.

She'd like to believe that this is a known fact, that everyone knows she doesn't cross that invisible line she's put between her personal and professional relationship with him. She does consider them friends, considers the relationship that they have to be more than boss/secretary, more than friends but less than lovers. They haven't ever been lovers. She's never found herself tangled in his sheets nor has he been wrapped up in hers; he's never been buried so deep inside of her that she can feel the head of his dick along the walls of her uterus, so full of him that all she can do is cry his name out like he's the second coming (and third and fourth and maybe even fifth if he gets that sexy smirk that she thinks means he wants nothing more than to press her against the glass of his office, the one that if he were to try to fuck her senseless then she would let him)

- point is, that is not them.

They are not those people and they do not have that kind of relationship. The relationship that they have is tangible, is loyal and forgiving in the best of times and in the worst of times. And, oh  
boy have they seen some dark days.

Harvey and Donna? They are like _this_. They are a singular cell that have been fused together over the years. They are two colors that contrast one another and compliment the other at the same time, like green and blue or pink and purple. They are a package deal, a pair that is undeniably incomplete without the other.

After all, he can't be him without her.

They are two sides of the same coin, different but the same, but they are not in love.

* * *

Their lives are painted with history and sometimes she remembers when they first met and toed that line and she made him the sexless inn keeper again and again.

It was funny at the time. The way he'd take her back to his apartment (before the condo, before the leather couches, before the private elevator, before the breathtaking view of the New York City skyline), put on the beginning of their Star Trek marathon and he'd absently touch her exposed skin. Sometimes even the places where the hem of her dress slipped a little too far up her thigh but neither had the sense to do anything other than utilize the opportunity, his light touch making her wet as his fingers sketched out landscapes that were ultimately engraved in her brain. But they never fucked.

It's important to note that he maybe took her breath away on occasion and that she might have left him speechless, but they never fucked.

They just didn't have the chemistry. Or maybe they had too much chemistry.

She always thinks of the maybe, the or, the could have been -

she remembers what the fucking problem was, is quick to remind herself so that she never forgets. Cameron Dennis stood in the way of their future, his questionable methods beginning to lead Harvey down a dark path that she wouldn't have been able to watch. She wouldn't have stuck around for that, doesn't yet know how to forgive him for that one fight that ripped them apart much worse than her shredding the memo.

Harvey is much more forgiving than she is, she knows this now.

It's her fault they never became anything, that they didn't repair the damage afterwards because he gave up what she wanted him to. It doesn't matter anyway because she doesn't love him. She doesn't love Harvey Specter - it's not that simple; she does _not_ fucking love him.

* * *

The thing about Harvey is that he remembers what he wants to remember. He chooses not to think about the time back at the District Attorney's office, knows that Donna was right and he was going to become something that he despises had he not gotten out. He needs her, needs her more than he's ever really needed anyone.

Because of her, he remembered his values, made it through the loss of his father.

Donna is his other half, his missing puzzle piece, and he probably loves her. He probably loves her the way that John Lennon loved Yoko Ono, the way that Anne Boleyn loved King Henry VIII, the way that Romeo loved Juliet. They are not a tragic love story.

They are not a love story at all.


	2. you think the worst is a broken heart

**six degrees of separation ; r ; 2,742 words ;**

**first, you think the worst is a broken heart**

**they aren't okay but they'll both pretend anyway**

* * *

_Okay, so, I don't know what I'm doing half of the time and then this happened and good luck. Just know that Ted is a really nice guy and pretty much the course of this fic takes place in one night. I hope you like it._

* * *

Donna perches the stem of her champagne glass between her thumb and forefinger, the liquid chilled and the bubbles bouncing from the bottom of the contents only to pop at the top. The alcohol smells expensive, tastes expensive (_is_ expensive), and slides over the sides of the glass as she turns ever so slightly like she's working the room; she's only taken a sip, feeling like she isn't really classy enough for the expensive bottle. She still isn't used to it yet.

Her eyes absently search the crowd for Ted.

Edward Theodore Humphrey is the future mayor of New York City, or at least he aims to be - he has class, poise, money, plus he's related to the Kennedy's. She isn't naive, by any means. She doesn't have the idea of forever, the misconception of happily ever after, but she thinks that if it were to work then what's wrong with being with a man who has power while working with a man who has power. She'd be the most powerful woman in the city.

But it isn't about power, not really. She wants love just as much as the next guy (or girl), but she doesn't want to make the same mistakes that she once had. She wants to be with someone who will respect her, who will understand that she is who she is, will get that she is loyal to her boss, her friend and has no intentions on severing their ties. She has a lot of wants and desires that she can't budge on, needs that she can't live without, but she's in no hurry.

She's never really planned on kids but they aren't necessarily unwanted. She just prefers not to make decisions like this all by herself when it isn't just for her, when her life isn't the only one that will be changed. Besides, she isn't all that interested in being responsible for someone else - she already has a child, a grown man pushing 40 who throws punches and has a reputation that proceeds him but she's still insanely responsible for him.

The crowd is small but the room is quite large and offers lots of room for sound waves to carry throughout, bounce off of the walls in a way that makes the voices surrounding her intermingle and sound like chatter.

And then she lifts her gaze from their fixed position on the bubbles in her glass, Ted's voice suddenly not the most familiar one in the room. She is not surprised that when she finds Harvey amidst the small swarm of people that his gaze is already pressed against her, a cold chill creeping its way into her spine as she reminds herself to breathe. She is, however, most ardently surprised that he is here at all, dressed in a perfectly poised tuxedo and a half cocked grin like he'd almost expected to see her.

She swallows, purse clutched tightly in her right hand and champagne flute still gracefully placed in her left. In order to maintain composure in his presence, she has to never become overpowered by the element of surprise because even though she does _not_ love Harvey Specter, it does not mean that she is immune to their bond or elegantly aware of all of the ways they are tied to one another. She is not in love with Harvey Specter, _she is not in love with Harvey Specter_ -

she is simply consumed by Harvey Specter.

She flashes him her teeth, pearly whites a sparkle that her dress is missing even though she is less than dressed for the occasion but quite possibly demanding the attention of everyone eager to give it. The play isn't as elegant as the ballet but this is New York and any event worth making an appearance is an even worth dressing up. Her dress is shorter than it should be, especially as a politician's date, but damn it all to hell if she doesn't have the legs to show off.

Harvey's eyes give her a once over as he crosses the room to accompany her in the corner, and surely Ted will notice. Surely she will not get but a moment alone with her boss, her confidant, her friend, her almost could have been but never once was - surely she will not be surrounded with his all-consuming scent. Surely not.

Donna has not prepared herself for this, didn't have the forethought that she could run into Harvey while she's out with Ted. She thought, of all places, Broadway was safe from the great Harvey Specter. Or perhaps the problem is that she never really thought at all.

Maybe, just maybe, if she had taken the time out to consider that Harvey would be willing to do things that he doesn't want to do just because it's what someone else wanted (and, no, she typically doesn't count the things that he'd do for her whether he wanted to or not because she usually just did those things on her own volition, without question or concern of what he wants). Or maybe it's that she's consciously reminding herself not to think about him and their past or their future and just trying her damnedest to envision a future with Ted or some other nameless, faceless man. The possibilities are endless.

She inwardly groans because New York is a big city and of all of the nights that she could run into him, it's at one of her favorite plays with one of the most prestigious men that she's ever dated while she's wearing one of the shortest dresses she owns like she's asking for it

(and, if she were 100 percent honest, she was most certainly asking for it when she picked this dress out among her gem of a collection).

Point is, she is not prepared.

Even more than that, more than what Ted might think of her boss, of Harvey, she is concerned about what Harvey might think of Ted. Harvey does not leave people much room for error, does not go easy on them no matter who they are, does not give people much of a chance unless it's for the firm. (She is almost certain that _Harvey will not go easier on Ted for Donna_ but be tougher _for_ Donna.) Harvey merely gives people the rope and allows them to hang themselves.

"Surely Harvey Specter is not here on his own volition," she teases in a way of greeting.

He tilts his head not amused despite the smirk gracing his lips because, really, even when he is simply not amused by the situation he is still thoroughly amused by Donna Paulsen; "shocker running into you here."

"I didn't take you as a _Wicked_ fan," she counters.

He quirks an eyebrow, lips pursing and rolling in that comfortable manner that passes between them, "consider this my good deed for the year."

His fingers tighten on his glass stem, knuckles turning white as he attempts to keep his hands to himself. Their relationship is confusing - so many almosts, so determined not to touch one another, so close with their hovering fingertips, the air thick between them and the ghost of the other's touch sticking into the forefronts of their minds and all they can do is think about it, wonder what it means. His eyes drink her in, memorizing her curves in a way that he does not typically get to, gaze lingering in a manner that makes her painfully aware of the thickness in the space between them.

She smiles, sheepish and bold at the same time, "don't sell yourself short, Harvey."

"How do you get away with wearing a dress like that? You look like you're asking for it," he teases.

"I am asking for it," she counters with a smirk; he visibly reacts to her admission, hard on the _am_, loose on the _who_ and he swallows hard.

Their conversations do not exist in what they say, but the real truth is embodied in the way their bodies react, their eyes, their facial expressions, but the really interesting part lies within that which is not clear to anyone other than them; but, _she is not in love with Harvey Specter_.

* * *

Forty-five minutes into the play and he still doesn't know any of the characters' names. Zoe seems fully entranced by the show before her to his right. Donna (and Ted, he reminds himself) are seated in the same row somehow about 12 chairs to his left, and he thinks he's far more familiar with the length of her dress, the paleness of her thighs and tone of her muscles, and exactly where her (and Ted's) hands have been throughout the entirety of the show than he is with the play itself. He has not yet learned how to be apologetic for who he is (and neither is his constant because she doesn't dare apologize for who she is either) and he happens to be a man who notices details, constantly aware of his surroundings.

He does not offer Zoe his hand, does not attempt to make the distraction of Donna's presence a secret, does not pretend that the sharp inhale of his breath is attributed to the green faced witch rather than the way the hem of Donna's dress slips further up her thigh to reveal more skin when she shifts in her seat. He does not pretend and Zoe does not notice. Zoe does not know, she doesn't know that his eyes have been transfixed on Donna's legs for approximately 52 minutes and that all he can think about is what he may feel like between her thighs. He most certainly will not be shouting it from the rooftops.

His breath hitches in his throat when Donna slides a little further down in her seat, her dress so close to showing too much and he can't help the way his body tilts towards hers in his seat. It is a movement that no one will notice, one that is simple yet telling at the same time, a motion that has been repeated over and over again over the years without much meaning. His tongue presses over his lip, his mouth going dry and his throat feeling hoarse as she shifts her gaze to him; even in the distance he can see her mouth, the way it forms a thin line while her eyes still sparkle.

Harvey offers her a wink in a quick attempt to recover and her lips present him with a smirk, a familiar response that warms his soul maybe just a little bit too much -

he doesn't ask questions that he's afraid to hear the answer to.

Donna's gaze is hot on his but he's stuck to revel in the afterglow when she returns it to the show. The lingering of her gaze makes him squeeze his leg close to his knee, the eye contact between them almost enough to speak volumes that no one else can hear. He misses the comfort of her gaze, the reassurance in her eyes as though she could never doubt him for even a split second. He doesn't want it to be like this, gazing longingly at his assistant while he's out with Zoe and finally giving it a chance.

He always used to think as much as it was a maybe, as her presence and his desire for her is a maybe, that it could possibly be a maybe not as well. Donna is not a woman whom he is in love with. Donna is not a woman whom he is in love with. Donna is not a woman whom he is in love with. _He is not in love with Donna._

Harvey Specter doesn't even believe in love.

The things that he believes in are substantial; these things, they merit a certain kind of value that is beyond feelings and surpass humanity. He believes in things that can be done rather than things that cannot be seen, believes in everything and nothing at the same time. But the truth is that he probably loves Donna Paulsen, he's just too arrogant (as Zoe would say) to see.

He exhales and slowly forces his eyes to the boisterous noises from center stage, Zoe's fingers absently sweeping over the back of his hand resting somewhere near his knee; he doesn't think he can be here much longer, in this room with Donna so close and so far away and Zoe to his right like they are something that cannot be replaced when in all reality it is Zoe that could never replace Donna.

He reminds himself that it doesn't matter, that she's with Ted now, that he's with Zoe, and they will never see each other in that light anyway. He's almost sure that three quarters of his thoughts are being driven by that dress, by the expanse of her skin, the echo of her smooth voice repeating over and over _I am asking for it_. He swallows, the gulp audible and distracting even to his ears; his hand flinches beneath Zoe's touch.

[ o n e ]

He gets up right now and walks out without uttering a single word.

[ t w o ]

He says something, something that shouldn't be said, something that can tear everything they've built over the years down.

[ ]

He does nothing.

The story does not end here, it simply pauses, it hangs in the air for moments upon moments until he can look at Zoe and offer her a smile as though nothing is wrong - like his dick isn't throbbing in his pants, like Donna's thighs aren't at the forefronts of his mind. No, the story simply offers him the chance to breathe, the lull existing only in his mind as the world around him continues to move. Zoe is merely a placated statue before him and Donna is a monument, standing out and tall and demanding the attention of every eye in the room. And Donna's architectural structure gets it, gets every eye on her the moment she walks into a room - every guy wants her and every girl wants to be her.

Harvey may not be able to give her anything else but he does give her that much.

* * *

Harvey's eyes are hot on her flesh, the quiet creep of burning making its presence known as it graces her quite bare neck and shoulders. If the room were not dark, she'd have some explaining to do. She knows when his eyes are on her, when they are inviting and hungry and determined. She knows -

she knows the way his mouth curls when he is so incredibly turned on. He is not much of a man who stares, who lusts, who can't stop thinking about a woman until he has her. He is not that kind of man, but he is the kind of man who sees what he wants and gets it.

There is not much about Harvey that Donna does not know, that she cannot anticipate, but this entire evening has left her flustered beyond belief. So much so that she can't even focus on her favorite Broadway show. She was prepared for anything, but she was not prepared for this.

She was not prepared for him to be looking at her from across the room, for his eyes to devour her and her mind to imagine a torrid love affair with her boss. She did not want to get to this place, to this moment that all she can think of is his hands on her skin, fingers slipping into crevices that barely exist as he feels her out and attempts to memorize her skin, his body pressed against her skin and his mouth hot on hers. These are not things that she wants to be thinking.

She shifts beneath his gaze, the warrior slant in Harvey's eyes making her unable to breathe.

Ted's fingers touch hers, "you okay?"

"I'm fine," she reassures, immediate and combative.

Sometimes she forgets that not everyone is as thick skinned as Harvey. Her eyes flit in her boss' direction again. It's the first time his eyes haven't been on her in nearly an hour. She breathes a little easier and returns her gaze to the performance. Harvey Specter is a lot of things but subtle is not one of them.


	3. what's gonna kill you is the second part

**six degrees of separation ; r ; 2,475 words ;**

**what's gonna kill you is the second part**

**they aren't okay but they'll both pretend anyway**

* * *

_Okay, so, I don't know what I'm doing half of the time and then this happened and good luck. Just know that Ted is a really nice guy and pretty much the course of this fic takes place in one night. I hope you like it._

* * *

Harvey doesn't get what's happening. All he knows is that he knows when people are just being polite, that Ted was only being polite when he extended the offer to join them for dinner. Harvey knew that, he knew that and he knew what was coming right after he'd opened his mouth to say no but a yes fell out instead.

So now, he's sitting across the table from Donna. He was in a lose-lose situation, which he isn't keen on and he rarely allows himself to be in, because his options were sitting beside Donna or across from her. He smiles carefully, eyes trying to stay far away from Donna and her perfect demeanor now that there isn't a show to thoroughly keep everyone else busy. It isn't like he'd meant to stare at her throughout the course of the show anyway, but he really hopes that no one tries to ask him any questions.

He looks at Donna daringly across the table, her scowl fixated on him and he knows exactly why - she isn't pleased that he accepted the invitation and if he is honest then he'd tell her that he hadn't meant to. He'd wanted to say no, meant to say no, but his emotions (the ones what don't exist, the feelings buried deep down that he's practiced years to ignore, the ones that get the better of him on rare occasions but certainly make an appearance aggressively if at all) got the better of him in a way that made his mouth betray his head. Everything they've spent years working towards, years pretending never happened, years pretending neither of them think about, rears its ugly head at the most inopportune times.

He figures if their gazes lock long enough that someone will notice; he sees Donna tongue press against her cheek and he narrows his gaze in preparation.

"So, how did you enjoy the show, Harvey?" Donna presses.

_You bitch,_he thinks, accompanied with laughter because he knows that she knows and she's just putting him into a position to watch him wiggle his way out.

His mouth quirks teasingly, their gazes locked and not even acknowledging the other two at the table, "I found the show to be quite entertaining. I couldn't take my eyes off of it."

"I'll say," Zoe chimes in, "I didn't hear a word from you the entire time."

Her accent is both harsh and silky at the same time, makes him feel a sense of comfort and a sense of annoyance. He knows that Zoe is spoken, that he should shift his gaze to her in acknowledgement rather than keep focused on the redhead in front of him - across the table. For a moment, he is relieved that he is not beside her, isn't sure that he could withstand the accidental brush of her leg against his.

"I was speechless," Harvey admits, tilting his head in Zoe's direction.

Donna laughs and he snaps his gaze back towards her, eyes narrowed and eyebrows furrowed in warning. The creases around his eyes are pronounced in a way that betrays him, emitting amusement rather than annoyance and in that moment he thinks _only Donna_. Only she could entirely mock him without belittling him - the quiet moments between them a mixture of what can and can't be.

"When have you ever been speechless?"

His amusement quickly fades because the person dragging this on is the one person he thought would have his back - she has just as much staked in this as he does. He lightly shakes his head, leaning forward in his chair. He rests his elbows on the table, threading his fingers together as he slightly tilts his head in an attempt to challenge her. She relents, tapping her fingers on the tablecloth to show her white flag.

The waitress comes over to the table before Harvey can retort and he is both relieved and devastated. He hates the way that the entire evening is giving him mixed emotions, but he knows the reason he agreed to join them for dinner. Knows that his heart just wasn't ready to not be looking at Donna anymore, knows that even though he looks at her all day there just isn't anyone who knows him quite the same.

He tries not to read too much into it, too much into anything, it's just the sense of familiarity that she offers him because she's always been there - right there for him to look at for just a moment of reassurance. He offers her a smile as he leans back in his seat, Zoe's hand making an appearance above the table and covering his. His gaze flits from Zoe to Donna and he takes note of their facial expressions.

Harvey doesn't let the moment lull for long, doesn't let his mind go places that it doesn't belong and doesn't bother trying to call attention to anything that is happening. He simply offers Zoe a lopsided smile, corners of his mouth tugging upwards as he glances at her, and slides his hand out from beneath hers. Silently, he hopes that the gesture goes unnoticed, that Zoe doesn't think anything of it and that Donna doesn't call attention to it. Donna has a habit of getting him into situations just to watch him claw his way out of it; he knows, at least he thinks he does, that she won't do this here and now - that she wouldn't willingly destroy him and her at the same time.

"We'll both have a Manhattan," Ted tells the waitress, gesturing between him and Donna.

Harvey's eyes return to Donna and he narrows his gaze at her, "you hate Manhattans."

"Harvey," Donna snaps in warning. She groans and leans forward in her seat. His eyes watch her every move, barely bothering to acknowledge Zoe in his peripheral vision. She matches his narrowed glance, "it's fine. I like them just fine."

His mind tells him to shut up but his lips betray him; "you hate them. I had to listen to a fifteen minute rant at that client's party about how much you hated them and why you hated them and how the presentations of them were absurd."

"Taste buds change every seven years," Donna challenges.

He leans forward in his seat as well, "oh, please, that's just a cop out. Stop pretending to be something you're not."

"Harvey," Zoe warns.

He sighs, "she hates Manhattans. She's hated them as long as I've known her. She just didn't start liking them just because she can."

"She is sitting right here," Donna interjects.

He snaps his eyes back to Donna, zeroing in on her, "you like margaritas and scotch and red wine."

"I like a lot of things," she replies decidedly.

She gestures to the waitress that a Manhattan is fine as Harvey relents. Ted's gaze is singled in on Harvey, distaste and displeasure clearly painted across his features. He only wishes he could keep his mouth shut, that he could promise he wouldn't destroy them with his big mouth.

* * *

Donna can feel Harvey's eyes on her. It isn't quite the way it is on a normal work day where she sits right outside of his office and he can see her through the glass. It doesn't feel like that, it isn't the same comforting connection that passes between them, the one that he gets because he knows she's listening and she gets because she knows he's watching.

It isn't like that, it isn't anything like that.

This stare is primal, it is possessive and combative. It annoys her to her very bone, can feel his presence in her veins and she wants nothing more than to return the favor. Her inner core is screaming out, silently begging with him to stop looking at her like just wants to devour her because she thinks that even though Ted is there (even though Zoe is there, even though Zoe probably just doesn't know that his eyes reflect his desire for her because maybe Zoe doesn't truly know him as she does), she thinks that she would let him without much protest.

She can feel his eyes on her, the reaction from within her surprising even her. She feels the heat rising in her stomach, the warmth hugging her skin and clinging to her like she has nothing to hide. She reaches over and lets her fingers settle on Ted's forearm reassuringly, trying so hard to ignore Harvey's reaction across from her.

She wants to withdraw her hand, wants to put space between her and Ted, but she knows that can't. That if she does, she will be questioned, he will wonder why and Ted will not be happy. They've been dating long enough, long enough that he should feel secure in their relationship and shouldn't question her movements at all.

_But, maybe he should_- maybe he has every right to, from the way that she can feel Harvey's presence between her legs and he hasn't even laid a hand on her.

Any hesitance to maintain physical contact with Ted can only make this all fall apart. She wills for some kind of reason to separate, for a reason to not feel Harvey's eyes boring holes into her until she wishes the chair would swallows her hole. She wants for some kind of relief from the reality because the only thing that matters is that _she does not love Harvey Specter_.

She breathes out an audible sigh of relief when their salads come to the table. She takes the moment to offer Ted's arm a gentle squeeze and retract her hand, her hand finding her fork to distract herself with the food. She doesn't have much of an appetite anymore, but at least it will busy her hands and she can push around her food like she's doing something.

Donna's teeth sink into a tomato and Harvey freezes from the other side of the table; his eyebrows furrow in question, "what are you doing? You hate tomatoes."

"No I don't," she disagrees with a laugh.

Harvey lightly shakes his head, "then why do you always give me yours when they come with your food?"

"Because you like tomatoes," she replies pointedly.

For a long moment he looks at her, lips pressed together in a thin line as he processes her words, the realization that she's always looking out for him entering his mind for nearly the thousandth time over the years. And she thinks for a moment that these are conversations they were never meant to have, that he was never supposed to know and he was never supposed to ask. These are the conversations that they weren't supposed to have, that other people were never meant to overhear.

It's the little things.

* * *

Ted ran into someone (or a group of someone's) that he knew and wanted to talk about his future campaign while Zoe ran to the bathroom after the meal was paid for, leaving them to be standing outside to wait for their prospective dates. The wind is blowing a little harder now, a cold chill surrounding her as the wind brushes through her hair. He notices, he notices the look on her face and the way her smile tugs at the corner of her mouth as she catches his eye.

Her heels make her calves tight and flexed, the toned outline of them catching his eye as he tries not to notice. But she's hard not to notice. She's always been hard not to notice and he's always been able to silently notice.

He's happy - he's happy with Zoe so he shouldn't be thinking about what it would be like to hike up Donna's skirt right now.

He tilts his chin upward when he sees her shiver as she hugs herself for warmth. He's been busy trying not to look at her, busy trying to keep his eyes anywhere but focused on her even though he's been failing for the majority of the evening. He's usually so discreet when it comes from throwing glances at a woman, quick to look but rare to linger.

He steps closer when she looks at him, her eyes softer than they have been all night. She keeps one arm spread over her chest, her other hand resting at her side; he steps into her until the back of his hand brushes against hers, his fingers stretching along hers. He can feel her warmth, the way her fingertips hook around his.

They don't touch - not often, not intimately - because everything that they've ever felt can transfer in that moment. He remembers what it felt like the last time they touched; it was prolonged and distracting, so much so that he couldn't concentrate on the conversation at hand. Her fingertips lingered for hours, for days, and he'd thought about her hands even when it was Zoe's hands on his skin.

He releases a shaky breath, her nails long and emitting a neutral temperature compared to her frozen fingers. He's pretty sure that she inhales a deep breath beside him, fairly certain that he isn't the only one who is unraveling with just one touch. He sighs, eyes firmly planted on the busy street before them, and he's pretty sure that to anyone else they just look like two normal people.

"Donna," he mutters huskily.

She lightly shakes her head, her fingers sliding down the length of his barely clinging to the tips; "you have to stop looking at me like that."

"I know," he agrees, "I don't mean to."

"Then you should look away," she tells him.

He purses his lips together, tongue absently sliding from one corner to the next, "Monday morning, expect a different man."

"I expect the same man," she advises, "just one who is less obvious."

She releases a sigh, lifts her hand and brushes the hair out of her eyes. He finds that with her hand away from his, he misses it, misses the feeling of her fingers beneath his and her skin pressed against his. He drops his gaze to the ground and takes a half step away from her. He divulges his hands into his pockets and lifts his chin to look at her -

"he will be there, bright and early Monday morning."

Before she can respond, he hears Zoe's voice behind him as the door to the restaurant swings open. Harvey turns on his heel to glance at her over his shoulder, her smile easy and naive like she doesn't have the first clue as to what's going on. He thinks it's all the better, that one night is one night and nothing of fruition will evolve, but at least this way it can all be left behind.


	4. your world splits down the middle

**six degrees of separation ; r ; 1,798 words ;**

**third is when your world splits down the middle**

**they aren't okay but they'll both pretend anyway**

* * *

_Okay, so, I don't know what I'm doing half of the time and then this happened and good luck. Just know that Ted is a really nice guy and pretty much the course of this fic takes place in one night. I hope you like it._

* * *

Friday night for the last 3 months has usually been spent with Zoe, trying to figure out whose place to stay at depending on Olivia's location, but there's something about this night in particular that makes Harvey want to get out of it. Maybe part of him understands that he couldn't possibly hold onto any dignity or self-respect if he were to be with Zoe when all he's thinking about is Donna. Or maybe he just doesn't have it in him to pretend, not tonight - not now and not when the ghost of Donna's touch is still beneath his fingertips.

Harvey is a lot of things - arrogant, charming, tough, fair, arrogant and arrogant (with a little bit of handsome intact) not to mention, arrogant - but less than noble is not one of those things.

He has rules that have made his life rather simple (yet it's still complicated to the point that he remembers why he doesn't bother with people or places or things). Don't sleep with married women. Don't make promises he can't keep. Don't get too attached because people will use that to their advantage. And, last but certainly not least, don't commit to something that he can't stay committed to.

So, instead of pressing Zoe with his gaze to invite him in to stay the night, instead of letting the words hang in the air between them like usual, he merely leans forward and presses his lips to the corner of her mouth. He can't even bring himself to kiss her like she's worth time or effort, like she's the most beautiful woman he's ever laid eyes on, like she's the woman he wants to spend his time with. It isn't that she's not worth time or effort, that she isn't made of beauty, or that she isn't everything that is good and right and perfect in the world - that isn't it at all.

She just isn't Donna, and he's probably been in love with Donna forever.

* * *

"I just don't understand, Donna, he's your boss."

"He's my friend."

"Bosses are not friends. They are cordial and nice on occasion but they certainly don't know you _that_ well."

"It's my job."

"It's not your job to take care of him like you would take care of a husband."

"That isn't fair, Ted. He's been my boss, my friend, for fourteen years. How many people have you worked closely with for that long without walking away knowing each other? Without considering them a friend?"

"Listen, Donna, a man knows two things. First, the batting lineup for the Yankees. And, second, when another man is in love with his girlfriend."

"He is not in love with me!"

"He is, but that isn't the problem. The problem is that I can't help thinking that you're in love with him too."

"I'm not, Ted. I'm really not. He's a major pain in my ass. He can't even make a phone call without someone else dialing the number for him. He's like a brother or a cousin or a child. Mostly like a child, and I am only on mommy duty during business hours."

"When are you not on business hours?"

"I just said that he was a pain in my ass."

"I'm going to be the mayor of this city one day, maybe even more of a public figure than that, and I still believe that a politician can be honest. In order for me to live an honest life, I need you to be honest. And I'm not sure you can."

"Oh my god, you cannot be serious. That's bullshit."

"Maybe, but I don't know right now if this is going to work. I just need some time to think. I'm gonna go."

* * *

The incessant pounding on his front door comes only as a minor surprise. It can be any number of people but he has a vague idea of who it could be. He forgets to grab a shirt as he gets out of bed, figures this won't take long anyway. If it's Jessica, she'll just give him a quick bitching and excuse herself. If it's Mike, Harvey will tell him to get out. And if it's Zoe, well, she'll just come in, he guesses.

Odds are that Zoe just decided that they left some things unfinished, things that were left unsaid. There are things that probably should have been said, that he didn't bring attention to and neither did she. When he left her house, he felt a sense of relief like maybe he dodged a bullet.

But when he pulls the door open, he's met with Donna's eyes looking back at him and he's suddenly aware that he only has a pair of sweatpants on and nothing else. Her eyes bore holes into him, absently trace over his chest like she's seeing him the first time (and maybe she is, because she's never seen him like this before, with his hair sticking up and disheveled from the static of the pillows). He doesn't say anything, just swallows as his lips part in the unspoken question.

Everything between them is better left unsaid and they always have been.

Her eyes narrow at him accusingly, "I was happy. I was happy and then you show up, staring at me like that, like you're just undressing me with your eyes, and then you open your big mouth because you're an arrogant son of a bitch and you want everyone to know that you know more than them."

He opens his mouth to say something but instead lets his jaw hang open, his eyebrows knitting together. He lightly shakes his head, his hand tightening around the doorknob as he swallows. He watches her jaw clench, the lines of her features something that he can't look away from.

"Donna," he mutters, held tilting as his gaze hardens, "I didn't-"

"You did! You always do. Why the fuck do you think that you never meet anyone that I date anymore?" She interjects, her hands fly into his bare chest and leave a sting against his skin. He's sure that it's going to leave a mark, that he's never been slapped so hard in his life and he's been slapped a fair amount. A smug grin tugs at the corners of his mouth and he fights it - fights it because she's pissed and he can see it in her eyes, because he doesn't mean to be the way that he is, not this time. "I've never even mentioned his name, not one time in the last seven months, because this is the shit you pull. You do this like I'm your territory and I'm not yours, Harvey. Zoe is yours. I am not yours."

He grabs her wrist to keep her from hitting him, the slap hard and soft at the same time as she mars his skin, and he tugs her to him. Her elbows dig into his ribcage, her joints rolling against his top ribs just below his peck muscles, and he thinks that this is it, this is the moment that he could either say something with some substanance or he could just let her get it out of her system. He doesn't know, doesn't know what to do or say and he's never really been in this position before. All he knows is that they can't hover in the hallway, they can't do this where his neighbors can gauge their every move.

His fingers slide up her palm and slips between her fingers without much protest from her. Her lips form a thin line, her mouth both strange and familiar at the same time, and he can't help but look at the shape of them. Her body pressed against him makes his mouth part, lips dry as the warmth from her lips ghosts over them.

"Do you want to come in?" He asks huskily.

She narrows her gaze at him, her body betraying her words as her hips arch into his, "no, I just came here to yell at you and now I'm going home."

"Okay," Harvey agrees, "I'll see you later then."

"I'm still mad at you," she reminds him, the webs of her fingers pressing into his, "I never want to see you again."

"Okay, I'll find you a replacement on Monday," he agrees, words laced with that somewhat familiar tease, "are you sure you don't want to come in?"

"No," she admits, word heavy in her throat, "I want to be happy, Harvey. That's what I want."

"I," he pauses, swallows, "I want you. I haven't been able to think about anything else but you all night."

"I know," she breathes, "but you can't."

"But you're still standing here," he reminds her, "I can feel your breath against my lips and your skin beneath my fingertips, so if you're going to go then you have to go now."

"I'm not done yelling at you."

He sighs, a grin slowly smiling over his lips, "okay, then come in. Yell at me some more."

He takes a step back, pulling on her to follow his lead, the door slamming shut as she kicks the door closed behind her. His fingers stay hot between hers, his thumb pressing into her knuckle like she's trying to break loose when she's really made no effort to. The back of her hands press against his chest and he feels like the shape of them are being burned into his skin.

"Harvey," she sighs, her breath lost in the space between them as he steps back into something, the sound of the table scratching across his floor; her body jolts into his, torso and hips and thighs and knees and the toe of her shoe against his toes as her lips slightly part. Her words get lost in the moment, the smell of her surrounding him and her lips dangerously close to his. "I was happy and then you spend one night in the room with him and it all goes to shit."

"I was happy," he counters, "I was happy, too, and then I see you and I can't stop seeing you and I was happy. I was happy for a long time, happy to just be watching you from afar, happy to just have you in the way that I had you, but I was jealous. I was jealous because I'm probably in love with you."

"Bullshit," she snaps, "you're not in love with me."

His fingers glide against hers as he releases his hold, hands smoothing over her skin until they settle on her hips; he opens his mouth to retort, but his words are swallowed by her mouth descending on his, open and poised and ready like she's been preparing for it for years.


	5. you gonna think that you fixed yourself

**six degrees of separation ; r ; 2,523 words ;**

**you gonna think that you fixed yourself**

**they aren't okay but they'll both pretend anyway**

* * *

_Okay, so, I don't know what I'm doing half of the time and then this happened and good luck. Just know that Ted is a really nice guy and pretty much the course of this fic takes place in one night. I hope you like it._

* * *

They don't fit together right.

Her hands are hot on the back of his neck, the outlines of her fingers burning into his skin and making it turn red beneath her touch only to make it flush out in a yellowish hue around it. Donna's lips on his aren't like any other woman's; they are warm, strange on contradictory to everything he's ever known because they are lips that he's spent the most time in his life looking at but not touching. He can't say that he's ever really known them. He wonders now, after all this time, if he's ever really known her before now.

His thumbs press into her hipbones, the ridged feeling of her bones cutting into his fingertips. Her mouth is warm, her hair hugs her face and tickles at his collarbone as the end of it is drawn to her cleavage - every inch of him aches for her. His fingers stretch out for the hem of her dress and he becomes more aware of just _how_ short it has really been all along.

Her tongue touches his and it's then that he realizes that she has the upperhand, the power, and she's been guiding them through this journey all along and he's just always been at her mercy. It's then that he decides to open his mouth a bit wider and plunge his tongue into hers. It's then, it's then, it's then...it's then that they rewind and repeat, replaying the featured moment over and over again as his nails dig into the back her thighs and her fingers grasp onto him like she's begging for this.

He gets it, she doesn't have to say anything because he gets her movements and her touch her without her having to voice her actual thoughts - no words are necessary between them, all of the things that are unsaid will remain unsaid. The point is - they don't fit together right because her hands are here and there but everywhere at the same time, and his mouth feels like it doesn't belong but it's never really felt like it belonged before. He thinks it's in his head, that it's because he knows he's supposed to be kissing someone else and she's supposed to be kissing someone else but all he wants is her.

His fingers spread out against her skin, grasping her hamstrings as he uses the strength he can muster; her tongue winds around his, her smooth palette feeling rough against his as he pushes himself towards her. His weight shifts and pulls him, gravity taking over and sending his chest into hers forcing him to step forward to keep his balance. His weight seems to double and her back hits the wall with a thud, steps away from his bedroom; a gasp escapes her lips, their mouths parting and his teeth tugging on her slightly swollen lips.

All of the muscles in his fingers activate, push into her thighs as he lifts her from the floor and pushes his hips forward to pin her against the wall. Her nails press into his skin, glide over his shoulders until they dig in and leave red streaks as her movements continue down his chest. He groans and her pressure loosens around his ribcage, touch becoming featherlight as his hands ease the hem of her dress upwards. Their breath mingles in the space between them, one hand sliding to the small of her back as she arches into him and the other finding her hair.

He swallows like he wants to say something, like he's trying to form words, but instead is distracted by the sound of one of her stilletos dropping to the floor. He lifts his head, nose brushing over hers as his gaze meets her, and her breathing speeds up - it's faster and harder, like she can't get her shit together, like she's stuck in the in between and can't decide if this is something that she does want or doesn't want. It lingers, they linger, their movements halt and everything seems to hang in limbo for what feels like an eternity.

Harvey thinks, _I'm in love with you because I need you_ -

but he says nothing.

The roots of her hair is soft, tickles his fingertips as the red locks curl around his hand and the bridge of her nose brushes the tip of his. For a brief moment, he thinks he should say something, that she needs him to say something, because most women want him to make polite conversation during foreplay, but he remembers that this Donna and she is not most women. Donna doesn't need words to communicate and she has no difficulty understanding him by any means; she can read him like an open book and he supposes he's always had trouble being closed to her.

Her heels dig into the base of his spine, her hair wrapping around his fingers and making him absently tug on her hair. Her neck tilts backwards with the movement, exposing more of her neck, and he just has to put his mouth there. His tongue and lips touch her skin at the same time, tasting the hollows of her throat as the distinct smell of her perfume being translated into taste; his tastebuds scream out to taste more, like what he's been given isn't quite enough and she's already lingering in his mouth.

He hears a noise fall out of her mouth and it makes him thrust his hips upward in response. He expels a breath against her skin, her fingers digging into his hair and his eyes drift closed at the realization that her hands are everywhere at the same time. Her touch lingers on his hands, on his chest, along his ribcage - her fingers pinching the ends of his slightly too long hair as she pulls his neck back to mimic hers.

He wonders if it's a power thing, if she wants to watch him react to her, but this is what he feels - her fingers pressing on his forehead as she arches her torso into his and her chin bumping against his as she blindly seeks his lips out with her own. He admits to himself that he _is_ in love with her, that this is only the foreplay and he can feel her ribs against his, and he groans awkwardly into her mouth. He feels her lips curl upwards into a smirk against his and it makes sense that she'd love this, that she'd thrive on having a blind power over him.

His mouth parts beneath hers, his fingertips slipping beneath the loose fabric of her dress and pressing into the arch of her spine as he takes a half step backwards. He braces her in his arms, no longer having the help of the wall to keep her upright and he narrowly misses the sharp edge of her heel. His tongue flits against hers, the tumbling motion inside of his mouth sliding against her tongue - her fingers are strong and delicate, tightly grasped around the ends of his hair as her painted nails dig into his scalp.

His hands push up her spine, the hem of her dress brushing over skin as it rides up with his movement. It's black, expensive, probably something that she bought with a bonus or with his credit card. He doesn't tend to ask questions because she takes care of his livelihood; he doesn't ask and she doesn't tell -

her breath lingers on his lips, trails over the cracks in them as her warmth surrounds him.

As her nails dig into his skin, some need compels his want, and he tugs on her dress from the hem. He listens carefully for any kind of noise to come from the material, but whatever he could be heard is drowned out by a sigh eliciting from her lips as they part. He tosses the black silky feeling material across his bedroom, the bare flesh of her stomach pressing against his.

He finds her to be weightless in his arms, her hair lightened by the soft glow from the street sneaking in through the windows, and for a moment they lock eyes. Neither of them speak, neither of them ask questions, it's simply moments hanging there as her fingers press into his shoulder blades and a groan falls out of his mouth. He can feel himself growing hard, his hands smoothing over the expanse of her back as his fingers pause at the clasp of her bra.

The metal feels cold beneath his fingertips, like a rush of memories and almosts that should stop him dead in his tracks if it weren't for the harsh reality that he has been actively not thinking about this for a very long time and he has been very much not in love with Donna for almost as long

(but the word almost actually translates to: _has been thinking about it while actively pretending as though he isn't and has probably been in love with Donna not too long after_).

Donna does not offer Harvey lenience, does not allow him moments to sulk or second guess himself. Harvey has always been a man who does not second guess himself, and Donna has always been a sure thing. They've just known better than to play with the invisible, undefined line that's been drawn between them.

He believes that they've spent years playing in the sand, building a sandcastle with ironclad walls around them, surrounding them to keep the other out, and it's been successful until now. The waves now are too strong, cannot be fortified against and cannot be ignored. Those waves come in the form of want and need and desire, placating the _can't haves _and the _do wants_ and the _give me nows_, the epitome of everything they've pretended didn't exist between them but both silently know do.

But as her mouth slides against his, he forgets the structure of their castles. He doesn't remember how fine the material was, the intricate detail fitted into their work, the intense amount of work put into each and every minimal task. He can't remember anything in this moment beyond the taste of her mouth, the way her frame feels beneath his fingers, the amount of temperature that seeps out of her pores, or the way her vertebrae dips along the curve of her back. He can't remember anything but the sound of her pleas, the way that her weight slowly but surely shifts onto his fingertips and captures his hands as the mattress meets his thighs, or the insane possibility that the way she is looking at him now is the way he's always wanted her to look at him.

He wants to ask her if she could ever love him, if she could ever need him how he needs her, but instead he bites his tongue.

His lips part involuntarily as her hands leave his shoulders, trail down his chest, trace the outlines of his ribs, hover over the waistband of his sweatpants. He silently reminds himself to breathe, that he is on the verge of getting to know what it feels like to be between her thighs if only he does everything right. Her skin is hot and cold beneath his fingertips, everything that she embodies translating into beauty before his very eyes.

He feels her fingers slip beneath the elastic band around his waist, the material stretching and hugging his hipbones at her movement. His fingers unhook her bra with a certain amount of poise, over thought and hesitation coming together with a shaky expulsion of breath as his eyes lock on hers. If there is silent protest in her eyes, he cannot see it; all he can see is a certain submission as her hair spreads out on his sheets and she looks so incredibly bare before him, a state of her which he has never seen and a vulnerability that she rarely wears.

His dick throbs as her breath warms his skin, her mouth lowering to just above his hipbone and her tongue pressing against flesh. A sigh leaves his mouth as his fingers are buried in her hair, her teeth nipping along his waistline. The air escapes him and he can't keep the distance between them for much longer, her silhouette everything and nothing he'd ever thought it would be.

His fingers circle the back of her neck. He reluctantly disconnects his torso from her mouth, bending down to press his mouth against hers. His tongue sweeps over her slightly parted lips, her weight shifting predominately to the bed as his fingers loop around the waistband of her silky underwear. Her breath hitches on his mouth and her hands glide down his sides, mimicking his motions as they both become relieved of their clothes.

"Do you have?" Her question is left unfinished but it has been asked and understood, the mere sound of her voice small and quiet in the darkness of their surroundings.

He does a firm nod of his head, the movement swallowed in the shadows as he hears her move towards the middle of the mattress; "yeah."

It takes a few quiet moments of blindly feeling in the dark before his hand finds hers, her fingers easily sliding between his, and he follows her movements onto the mattress. He sinks on top of her, falls into her, and she swallows him whole. Her grasp on his hand tightens, her lips part in anticipation, and everything that they've held on to but never laid out bare becomes obvious and important.

Her skin is cold, her calves pressing against the back of his thighs as she wraps her legs around him. Their hot breath entwines in the space between them, the movements sloppy and rushed as a sigh falls from her mouth. Her fingers grasp and release his hand, her nails digging into his skin in response to his hips thrusting against her thighs.

He can feel the muscles in her legs flex and release against his hips, his breath hitching in his throat as a groan jumps out of his mouth. He can see her tuck her bottom lip between her teeth in the glow sneaking in through the windows and it makes him pause, his thrusts slowing down as their eyes lock. She doesn't say anything, just lets a quiet moan elicit from her throat as her mouth parts; he takes it as an open invitation, as a silent plea, and covers her mouth with his.

Her spine arches, her thrusts meeting his in a way that makes him wonder if this is just the beginning of something or if it's the end. All of the lines have blurred, all of the ways they've defined what they are and aren't suddenly become an afterthought. Their mouths part, her breaths becoming deeper and much more audible, so much so that he can't help but follow her lead.

Everything that they are and aren't is swallowed in the space between them;

he doesn't tell her that he loves her again.


	6. you see them out with someone else

**six degrees of separation ; r ; 2,336 words ;**

**you see them out with someone else**

**they aren't okay but they'll both pretend anyway**

* * *

_Okay, so, I don't know what I'm doing half of the time and then this happened and good luck. Just know that Ted is a really nice guy and pretty much the course of this fic takes place in one night. I hope you like it._

* * *

_Oh shit_, she thinks.

_Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit._

She can't do this, can't believe what just happened; as his breathing penetrates her ears from beside her. She can't think - can't focus. She can still feel his hands on her skin, the way he feels pressed against her, the predatorial look in his eyes as the moisture of his mouth sticks to her flesh. His hand touches her thigh possessively, reassuringly; she isn't sure and she's afraid to look at him and attempt to discern it.

A panic rises inside of her and she feels like she's suffocating, his body heat making her skin flush even with limited contact. She moves away from him, her panic catching in her throat as she locates her underwear and bra on the floor beside the bed. She hears him shift behind her and the bed creak as it's relieved of it's weight that had been on it before.

"Where's my dress?" She asks him softly as she tucks a loose strand of her hair behind her ear.

He hesitates and swallows; she can see the wheels turning in his eyes, hates that she knows him so well in this moment, "it's, uh-"

"Where is it?!" She snaps.

His footsteps sound heavy as he rushes in the darkness to help her look for it. The light sneaking in from the hallway catches his frame as he wallks by the opening in his bedroom to look on the other side of the room. The light in the room flips on and she halts her movements, her eyes narrowing on him as he offers her a silent apology with his own gaze.

"Donna," he starts, his voice trailing off as he bends over to pick her clothing up off of the floor.

She swallows, "Harvey, please don't."

"Donna," he repeats her name, this time warningly.

A sigh passes through her lips, the simple sound of her name from his mouth making her concede. She notices her dress in his hand and she expels a sigh of relief, her footsteps slamming on the hollow floor as all of her weight rocks to her heels. Her hand wraps around the material of her dress, his other hand promptly circling around her wrist.

"Donna," he says again, pleading with her for her gaze to meet his, "I know what you're thinking-"

"If you know me so well, then why did you let me do this?"

"Because I meant what I said, and I was being selfish with you but it doesn't make it mean any less. I wanted you and I love you, but I'll be the bad guy if you need me to be," he says, eyebrows raised pointedly.

"This was a horrible idea," she replies, "how are we going to work together after this?"

She watches his head tilt downward, chin bowing to the floor as he slowly releases his grasp on her, "we don't have to go back."

"You're with Zoe and I'm with Ted," she reminds him.

She feels his eyes on her as she pulls her dress on over her head. When she catches his eyes again she notices that he's pulling a pair of jeans on, his bare chest red from where her nails have been. For a moment she feels like maybe she was trying to stake claim to him, wonders if it was about love for her too.

He sighs from across the room, "we don't have to be."

"Harvey," she starts, an annoyed sigh catching in her throat. He watches the pad of her fingers slide over her face, her annoyance and confusion settling onto her features. She knows where this is going, she just never thought Harvey would be one of those guys to take it there. "Let's not pretend now that our feelings matter, okay? They don't. However we feel about each other hasn't been a problem and it shouldn't start being a problem now. Our lives have been fine the way that they are, intertwining without actually touching."

"Don't make it mean less than it is," he counters, "it might not have meant anything to you but don't try to speak for me."

"We don't do this, Harvey. We don't talk about our feelings, whatever we feel for each other doesn't need to be said," she reminds him.

She finds her heels on the floor and puts her feet into them mid-step, the sound of his footsteps only 2 paces behind her. The sound of her heels echoes off of the walls of his apartment, the noise so loud in the momentary silence between them. She knows Harvey, knows that he doesn't say anything that isn't worth being said, that sometimes silence is his biggest enemy. She knows that all she has to do is look at him to get all of his answers so she refuses to look at him, refuses to for fear that she will see something in him that she doesn't want to.

She hears him slam his foot onto the floor from behind her as he tries to put on his own shoes, in a rush to stay caught up with her without actually having to hesitate much; "well, maybe it should be something that's talked about."

"Not now, Harvey," she replies sharply.

His hand wraps around her wrist as he turns her towards him. Her eyes catch his but she doesn't hesitate to notice that he has on a t-shirt and jeans; he just looks like a normal guy. A Harvey Specter she's never seen before - a Harvey Specter she knows she could get used to seeing if she stands there for much longer. His eyes silently plead with her for a just a beat and then -

"Why not?"

"Because it can destroy us," she snaps.

He sighs, takes a half step back to put some space between them, "but what if it doesn't? What if it only makes what we have that much better?"

"We can say what if every day for the rest of our lives, Harvey, but what if it doesn't work?"

"Then at least we can say we tried," he counters with a smirk.

She laughs half-heartedly, "you're really fucked up, you know that?"

"Thank God I have you," he says softly, "I don't want to know what it would be like without you."

"And that's why, Harvey," she offers him a slightly apologetic smile, fingers reaching up and touching the crinkle in his eyes softly, "that's why we can't do this."

* * *

Harvey's knuckles wrap on the door that he's become relatively familiar with over the months, the cold chill of the outside air biting his ears. He feels bad doing this now, nearing 1 am, especially after they parted ways on such amicable terms - both seemingly happy - but he knows that it needs to be said and his motto has always been _better now than later_. The entire night is weighing on his shoulders, heavy on his chest, and it's only been minutes since the evening made its appearance.

His mind won't stop replaying the feeling of Donna's legs wrapped around him or the way that her mouth lingers against his. He knows that he needs to be sure before he tells Zoe anything, he should have no doubts in his mind, shouldn't willingly give it all up for nothing, but she deserves to know. She deserves to know that he's in love with another woman and when given the opportunity he cannot deny her.

Zoe open the door, hair disheveled from sleep and eyes barely two slits acknowledging his presence; his mouth is fixed with an apologetic smile, hands buried deep in his pockets. One look at him, and she knows, she doesn't really divulge that she knows but he knows that she does. She may not know the details, may now know how far it's gone or just how much past the line he and Donna have gone, but Zoe knows that the feelings have reached his surface.

"Hey," she mutters tiredly, accent thicker when laden with sleep.

He expels a breath, the energy to a grace her a sad smile escaping him, "hey."

He watches her swallow - "do you want to come in?"

"No," he lightly shakes his head in protest, "this won't take long."

"Okay," she acknowledges and hugs herself tighter for warmth.

"I had sex with Donna," he starts, straight to the point without much remorse beyond apology exposed in his tone, "I wish that it would have happened right but it's didn't. I want to say that I made a mistake but I can't. I didn't want to hurt you but I think we both know that I've been in love with her for a long time, I just didn't know how to love her the way that she deserves. Thank you, Zoe, for teaching me patience and showing me how to show someone else that I care."

He watches her face drop as she absorbs his words and he feels badly for his actions; he still can't regret it.

"There's a child involved, Harvey," she reminds him.

He lightly nods his head because he feels badly about the way things are; he lifts a watery gaze to hers, "I know. I'm sorry."

"Are you going to come tell her goodbye?" Zoe fights tears, hugging her middle tighter.

He buries his hands into his pockets again; "do you think I should?"

"I think she'd like that."

"Then I'll come by and see her tomorrow," he concedes.

He lightly nods his head and steps up on the top step, hesitantly leaning in and pressing his lips against her cheek. Her salty tear clings to his lip, but he doesn't hesitate as he steps backward and puts more space between them. He can still taste Donna, slowly mixing with salt.

He disappears down the street, determined to at least make Donna hear him out.

* * *

Donna digs through her purse for her keys as she approaches the door to her building, the cold chill of the night air beating on her skin and making her steps increase in an attempt to arrive faster. Her keys jingle in her purse but she suddently stops, her hair caught in the wind, when she sees Ted sitting on her doorstep. She didn't think he'd come back, doesn't even know that she wanted him to in the first place.

"Ted?" She asks, her heels pounding against the concrete as she comes to a halt; there are feet between them but she can still pinpoint his gaze as it lifts from the ground to look at her, "what are you doing here?"

He pushes himself to his feet, his frame tall and tired as he nonchalantly stretches, "I didn't think we should leave things like that. Maybe I can come inside and we can talk about it?"

"Ted," she says with a sigh, hand pulling out of her purse without the keys and swiping over her forehead, "I don't think there's anything left to say."

"There's plenty left to say," he says, words soft as he takes a heavy step towards her to close the space. For some reason, she flinches. She doesn't know why because he's never laid a hand on her, no man ever has, but she's afraid to really think about it. She's afraid it's connected to Harvey, to her boss, her friend, the man whose hands were on her less than an hour ago. "We said too much. Or not enough. I don't know."

"It isn't like you to be indecisive," she observes.

He lightly shakes his head in response, "no, it isn't. So, can I just come inside so we can talk?"

"Just say what you need to say. Out here. Before we go inside," she challenges. He usually concedes when she challenges him. It isn't usually the quality that she looks for in a man.

"Donna, I want to fix this. It was a mistake, okay? You just," he sighs, rocks back on his heels as he drags a hand through his hair, "you told me about that guy you dated who made you choose between him and Harvey. I didn't get it. I didn't get why because you can balance your work and us, you really can do it all. But then I saw him tonight and I could just see it, how possessive of you he was with you and me thrown into his face. That isn't your fault. Hell, it probably isn't even his fault."

"Probably?"

"You are a very charming woman, Donna, and I don't think any man is immune to them," he admits, slight smile tugging on the corner of his mouth.

She relents, a little bit of the tension in her shoulders leaving them, "go on."

"I was going to ask you to marry me tonight," he says as he takes a step forward. He expels a breath from deep within his chest. She can almost feel the heat smooth within the space between them. "I'm sorry I was an idiot. But I still want to ask you..."

His voice trails off for a moment as he bends down on his right now, looking up at her. She knows what's coming next, doesn't think she can prepare herself for this moment, can't even clear her head enough to determine what her answer may be. She isn't ready for this; her brain tries to tell her body to take a step back but she can't move, doesn't move.

"Donna, will you marry me?"

She's silent for a long moment, the quietest that the streets have ever been surrounding her. She wants to move but she can't. Wants to form words but she can't. And that's when she hears the voice behind her, the shuffle of the shoes on the concrete as whoever is present closes in on them.

A familiar laugh echoes against the brick of her apartment building, "you've got to be fucking kidding me."


	7. you admit that you may have fucked up

**six degrees of separation ; r ; 1,399 words ;**

**you admit that you may have fucked up a little**

**they aren't okay but they'll both pretend anyway**

* * *

_Okay, so, I don't know what I'm doing half of the time and then this happened and good luck. Just know that Ted is a really nice guy and pretty much the course of this fic takes place in one night. I hope you like it._

_This is the last chapter (aside from the epilogue) so I really hope you enjoy it._

* * *

"Donna, will you marry me?"

She's silent for a long moment, the quietest that the streets have ever been surrounding her. She wants to move but she can't. Wants to form words but she can't. And that's when she hears the voice behind her, the shuffle of the shoes on the concrete as whoever is present closes in on them.

A familiar laugh echoes against the brick of her apartment building, "you've got to be fucking kidding me."

Ted audibly sighs, maybe even rolls his eyes but she can't tell for sure because she's already looking at him over her shoulder, and Harvey stands tall and certain with that smug grin she fucking hates when he directs it at her. She nearly glares at him, but she's stock still beyond looking at him. Her lips part in question, her eyes narrow innocently rather than accusatory. She clears her throat in an attempt to gain her bearings, but it has no avail.

"You've got to be fucking kidding me," Ted mutters, echoing Harvey word for word.

For a moment, Donna can't tell if Ted is mocking Harvey or simply voicing his annoyance, but she sees Harvey's eyes crinkle at the corners as he fights his gaze narrowing at Ted. Donna knows she has to diffuse the situation right now before it can get out of hand, before Harvey says too much and Ted doesn't say enough. She becomes lighter on her feet, rocking back into the tall heels as she shifts into a neutral position.

"Harvey," she finally acknowledges him verbally, "I thought we'd said everything that we'd needed to say by now."

"Wait," Ted interjects, eyebrows furrowing, "you were with him? That's where you went?"

"It isn't what you think," she counters with an eye roll. _It's exactly what he thinks_ but she's better at hiding it than most. She takes a half step back, distancing herself from both of them. She turns her gaze to Harvey, eyes sharpening on him, "you need to leave, Harvey. Ted, come with me."

She grabs Ted by the sleeve as she starts towards her front door, but she isn't surprised when she hears Harvey's footsteps behind her; of course he wouldn't make this easy for her at all.

* * *

Harvey stands in the corner of her apartment, arms folded in front of his chest as she sits on the arm of the chair in her living room and Ted sits on the couch. He's pretty sure that this is a conversation Ted doesn't want to have this conversation with him present and Donna doesn't care to, but he'd insisted. He's leaning against the window, the cold air from outside seeping in through the windows (and wonders why her apartment is so much colder than his when his walls are glass), and he crosses one leg over the other as he leans his lower back against the sill.

"The moment I leave, you run to him," Ted says, desperately trying to keep his voice low in an attempt to make it more private.

"I went there to tell him that he was inappropriate at dinner," she explains; Harvey audibly scoffs and she tosses a glare his way.

Ted's eyes narrow, eyebrows furrowed accusatory, "and that couldn't wait until Monday?"

"It could have," she sighs, "I was just so angry because he doesn't know how to mind his own business."

"Says the woman who was clearly offended when I didn't inform her of my personal plans _before_ I actually made them," Harvey interjects, voice dripping with sarcasm.

He sees her jaw tense from across the room as her gaze zeros in on him, silently warning him to shut up rather than actually saying it. He quirks an eyebrow and smirks a little, feeling badly that this is what the night has become but knowing that he has so much to say. He just needs to get it out but he's almost sure that unless he waits this out he won't get the chance.

"Listen, Donna," he finally says, "I can wait all night but I don't want to. I've waited for a long time to say anything and if you won't give me the chance then I'm just going to have to take it."

"Harvey, don't," she growls, "and this is not a warning."

He smooths his tongue out over his bottom lip, contemplating whether he should say what he wants to say and put her on the spot or if he should be compliant. He's never been one for compliant. He lightly shakes his head, annoyance clearly spread across his features.

"Donna," he finally replies evenly, "I _need_ you to hear me out."

Harvey's honestly surprised that Ted has been still and silent, letting it go on for this long. Harvey knows that he wouldn't, not unless it was a woman who wasn't worth fighting for. And Donna is a woman worth fighting for in every capacity. He calls himself an idiot for not recognizing it sooner.

"I don't want to hear you out, Harvey," she replies sharply. She stands to her feet, her tall heels and long legs making her tower over Ted's sitting form and cast him into her shadows. She lands an accusatory gaze on him, jaw cocked and ready to blow. "I've had plenty of time to hear you out and you've never said anything. Why should I start listening now?"

"Why do I get the feeling this is about something other than your friendship?" Ted starts. He narrows his gaze on Harvey and he knows that Ted gets it. Guys aren't stupid even when they pretend to be oblivious. Ted shakes his head, "you told her, didn't you? You told her how you felt about her, didn't you?"

"Ted," Donna says, hoping that he'll dismiss the conversation. It isn't looking likely. Harvey hangs his head, knowing that if he opens his mouth that Donna will kill him. "It doesn't matter how he feels."

"Yes it does," Ted disagrees, standing to his feet, "it matters because the only thing keeping you two from being together is that neither of you will say how you feel. Now that it's been said and it's out there on the table, those innocent little glances at the dinner table, those silent conversations that you two have that make everyone else around you feel like an idiot, it makes those things not so innocent anymore. You would never say yes to marrying me if you know how he feels about you."

"Donna," Harvey says after a beat, and he can tell she's beginning to hate the sound of her own name, "just hear me out."

"And then you'll leave?"

He sighs, scrubbing his face with his hand, "if you still want me to, then yes."

"Fine," she snaps. He sees the fire in her eyes and it makes him pause, always unable to deny her when he wants her so badly.

"I broke up with Zoe. I told her what happened. And I know I've made a lot of mistakes over the years, but the only one that I've ever felt badly about was not fighting for you when I should have."

Ted furrows his eyebrows, "don't make it easy on me, man."

"I'm sorry. I should have said it long before now," Harvey says with a small, incandescent shrug, "but I didn't ever want to do anything to screw up what we have, Donna, because you are the most important person in my life. If you say no, if you want me to leave right now, then I will. And if you won't be with me, then you should marry this guy because he doesn't deserve any of this, but these feelings between us have been here for a really long time and I don't think they're ever going away."

She stares at him, her mouth an awkward shape between annoyed and fighting back tears. He knows that if he sees her cry, he won't be able to stand 6 feet away from her and watch. He will have no choice but to close the space between them and wrap his arms around her.

"Wow," Ted mutters, annoyed.

"Harvey," Donna says, quiet and shaky voice, "I think you need to leave."

He lightly nods his head and leaves per her request, but the moment the door clicks shut, she mutters, "I'm so sorry, Ted."


	8. epilogue

**six degrees of separation ; pg-13 ; 739 words ;**

epilogue

they aren't okay but they'll both pretend anyway

* * *

It's a Friday morning when Ted appears on television to announce his campaign for governor. Donna can't help it when she reaches onto the nightstand for the remote to turn it up. His familiar voice is strong as ever, breaking into the silence of the dark bedroom at nearly 5am. She can only assume that it's an announcement from the day before that's only being replayed, one she had missed because she came in late from work.

"Damn it, Donna," Harvey grumbles, half teasing as he stretches and rolls onto his side. He slides his arm over her waist and tucks his hand beneath her hip, pulling her towards him. He expels a tired breath against her neck as he digs his chin into her shoulder; she has to sink further into him to make it stop. "You think it's loud enough?"

"Ted announced his campaign," she informs him.

Harvey slowly peels an eye open and lifts his head off of the pillow to glance at the tv, "we both knew it was going to happen eventually."

She sighs and rolls her eyes, Harvey's indifference less than amusing when they've had conversations over the last year that particularly avoid Ted's name. Conversations that any time he's on television they both fall silent and listen to what he has to say like they owe him at least that. They both knew they were going to feel a little guilty but they both feel like things are finally how they're supposed to be.

"You can show a little remorse," she replies, setting the remote back on the nightstand.

He grins, "I don't even know what that means."

"Clearly," she counters. She rolls into him, her leg sliding between his without much hesitance, and pushes her palm up his side. The diamond of her ring catches on the sheet for just a split second, almost unnoticeable, as she slips her hand beneath the hem of his t-shirt. "You could at least pretend."

"You're so high maintenance. I think we've heard Ted's voice enough for one morning. Kind of a turn off, don't you think?" Her fingers squeeze his side, thumb digging into his ribcage. His eyes narrow on her and she tucks her bottom lip between her teeth as her knee slide further up between his thighs. She feels him sigh against her skin, a sign that her nails on his scalp are distracting him from falling back to sleep. "Are you going to make me ask?"

"Ask what?" She presses.

He sighs, "why you're awake right now? We got home really late last night and you have a really early day. I would have thought that you'd get more sleep."

"_I_ have an early day?" She scoffs, "I'm calling in sick."

"You haven't missed a day in nine years," he says with a laugh, "I find it hard to believe that you're going to call in sick, especially when you're in bed with your boss."

"You're right," she replies with an elongated sigh, "I think we should break up."

"Like hell we are. I already dished out plenty of money on your ring."

"I know," she gushes, "it's so pretty. Definitely one of the best ones I've been proposed to with."

He shakes his head and rolls his eyes, his teeth momentarily nipping at the skin exposed between her neck and the collar of her (his) shirt. He pushes his fingers up her spine, waiting for her to stop dragging her fingers through his hair so he could concetrate. His lips briefly press against her jaw before he pulls back slightly, attempting to put space between them.

"But you're going to go through with this one, right?"

"Do you think I should?" She asks teasingly.

He smirks, "I think you should. I think you'd be happy with the decision."

"Oh yeah? What about you? Will you be happy?"

His face gets really serious for a moment, his mouth no longer gracing a playful smile as his touch suddenly feels lighter. This is a side of Harvey that she rarely sees, even now when they have been together for months, when they have known each other for years, but he's only ever serious in few rare moments. He doesn't say anything right away, just looks at her for so long that she thinks he's falling back to sleep.

He swallows, "I'm pretty sure it's the only thing that will make me happy."


End file.
